


Here and There and Elsewhere

by JackTheLongsword



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Book: The Tales of Beedle the Bard, Dark Fairy Tale Elements, Mythical Beings & Creatures, Mythology - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-10
Updated: 2020-08-20
Packaged: 2021-03-06 08:00:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 4,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25819987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JackTheLongsword/pseuds/JackTheLongsword
Summary: This story takes place in a multitude of places both magical and No-Maj alike. However it focuses on North American Wizardkind and is intended for a more adult audience as it deals with more grim and dark subject matter that children need not hear of.Things such as homelessness, addictions, the Three Unforgivable Curses and other unspeakable atrocities. This is a tale of that which can happen in the hidden depths and darkest of corners that can be found in the Wizarding World.
Kudos: 2





	1. The Man Without A Home

Jonah Strider let his willow wood wand slip out from under his sleeve. The whispering wind that never quite settled in the dark forest gave the young man a bad feeling. He often found ignoring intuition brought on more trouble than not to believe in it. In his mind the Unlocking Charm's incantation still rang clearly, Alohomora, he thought with a devilish smirk.The island was cold later on in the nights especially so close to winter. Not like the days which were still hot with a moist humidity in the heavy air. The door clicked open announcing it's newfound vulnerability. His free hand turned the creaky knob. Lightly his hands dance to the horrid peeling paint to tap the door a jar.

The wizard of twenty-three years old had been homeless most of his life. He knew when something was foul. When the "gig was up" as he so often put it. Jonah was drunk again, for the third or fifth day in a row, somewhere along the way he'd lost count. In the sky there was a distant noise. Indescribable but loud. Jonah had no time to star gaze. The old abandoned manor at the north edge of the lake was his best bet for a good night's rest. The townsfolk had said it was haunted. Ghosts, of any sort, didn't bother him much. The only place Jonah had ever cared for enough to call home was Ilvermorny. A school for Wizardkind across the border. All the way in the American State of Massachusetts. Although he thought back to Ilvermorny with regretful self loathing. Jonah had gotten himself kicked out during his fifth year. The expulsion was officially handed out for an unsupervised duel. The nice way of saying he nearly killed another student. Unfortunately at Ilvermorny students threw spells nots fists. Some of those spells could be life threatening or even potentially murderous. A young person, and a teenager at that, is expected to make mistakes with that kind of power. Yet punishments still remain and with the staff of Ilvermorny there was left no wiggle room at all for Jonah. 

A half smoked cigarette clung between his lips as Jonah staggered in through the doorway. The hallway was tight, cramped, dusty and smelled of many kinds of moldy cheeses. The door was slammed shut behind him almost as if the house had a mind of it's own. The narrow crooked corridor was an odd angled shape. The floorboards uneven with rot. All covered with moss or half sunk in. Each step wiggling and cracking and shaking. His weight warping the planks beneath him. His wand wielding hand's forearm sliding on the dusty grime of the wall to sturdy his steps. Perhaps it was merely his drunkenness that robbed him of his balance. Jonah tripped up the stairwell falling into the edges of the steep steps. His white knuckled grip tightening around his wand as he fell. He slammed midway up the narrow stairwell with a thump. The force kicking up a thick cloud of foggy gray dust that dried out his eyes as well as throat. Jonah choked out a cackling cough as he crawled upward. The homeless wizard was winded. His fall had driven out all the air from his lungs. His body dragged itself one stair at a time. He got to the top of the stairs while gasping, and sneezing, and with eyes watering in pain. The streetwise drunkard rolled onto his back. Air returning to his chest as the sting gently subsided. 

Jonah finished his cigarette as he laid motionless. The years as a fugitive had made him accustomed to risk. The town had been risk enough. It was a small lonesome town with primarily No-Maj for townspeople. The few magic friendly streets hidden by enchantments pf simple trickery or quick-fix-it type charms. Nothing like the mastery of magic preformed to hide wizardry and witchcraft in the capital city. Jonah remembered the awe striking beauty of Victoria. Also the fear inducing black markets of Downtown. Places like the Quadra or Pandora's Road. When he stood up he felt a head rush that nearly dropped him back down the flight of stairs behind him. He wobbled but did not fall down. Jonah moved slow. He let himself adjust to the surroundings. "Lumos." he slurred. The end of his wand igniting bright enough to make him wince. Flinching away from the contrast. His drunken eyes pained by his own wand light. Jonah put his wand between his crooked teeth. Many of them chipped from bar brawls or run-ins with Agents of the Magical Law Enforcement Department. He patted himself down with both free hands. Jonah retrieved a single self-rolled marijuana cigarette. A crumpled joint of weed which he straightened out. He exchanged the joint for his wand. "Incendio Minimis." he muttered drunkenly. A small flame shot from wand meeting with his marijuana joint. He inhaled deeply holding in the sweet taste. He exhaled the smoke in a vast stream. The large cloud puffing out like a steaming kettle as it screamed over an open fire. 

The room was dark even still when he ignited the Wand-Lighting Charm once more. A dimly lit dusty excuse for a manor. Some sort of Dinning Room that hadn't been seen to in at least a century or more. The room had an eight foot wide hole in the dead center of the room. The far wall was lined by large thin stain glass windows. The furniture grown over by moss or thorn ridden vines. The floorboards could not be seen under the thicket of vegetation. A piano sat in the back right hand corner. As he strolled through the room casually he passed a fireplace. This slowed his pace to a halt. He was little ahead and stiffly turned his body on heel to look at the possible access point. Wizardkind, especially ones who worked for governing parties, such as the Canadian Dominion of Magic often used fireplaces for fast travelling purposes. Jonah turned back around doing a rightward turn one-eighty degree to stare down the deep dark damp and dank hole in the floor. The hole went straight through the house into the basement. "That can't be good." he slurred. "Reparo." he said. The words came out stiff and foreign. He felt silly casting spells aloud. Much preferring nonverbal magic. Yet he was drunk, tired and had a habit of slipping in and out of conversation with himself. A bad habit left from his days of imprisonment.

Jonah aimed his wand from the hip at the floor. The hole rebuilt itself on the top floor only to fall apart seconds later. Far too decayed to be reapired with a simple charm he learned when he was eleven. His shoulders slackened with disappointment.

Just then a loud high-pitched whistling began. In the pouch pocket of his maroon pullover hoodie was his Sneakoscope. A small pocket sized device which fit in the palm of his hand. A rumbling and shaking and shrieking spin top. Jonah had since his fifteenth birthday. He had bought the Sneakoscope after being expelled. So he could sleep comfortably on the streets. "For fuck sake what now?" he grumbled. The fireplace ignited with green flame. A burst exploding brightly in an unexpected flash. The ordeal startled the fugitive wizard who put his arms over his face defensively. He immediately dashed from the room to the next. His wand aimed at the fireplace as he looked ahead. He dashed through a kitchen. His feet came out from under him. Jonah began on a hard tumble going head over heel clambering down a flight of stairs. He groaned moaning with the aches of not just the tumble but the earlier misadventures of the day. The last three or four maybe even as much as five days drinking had brought much trouble to Jonah's path. His hands were swollen, deeply discolored already, they would be bruised badly tomorrow. A fucking No-Maj bar brawl that Jonah would've liked to settle with his wand. He had already done enough illegal magic use in the outdated township of Fisherman's Wharf. On the west of the lake. The hike was twenty miles but Jonah enjoyed walking. On broomstick it would be a breeze but again he care not to risk any No-Maj seeing him. He didn't even carry a broomstick on hand anymore. It looked odd for a young man without a home to carry a broomstick. Many "normal" people thought he was crazy and often No-Maj's tried to "help" him. He didn't need to break out of another Looney Bin. His willow wood wand was an illegal magical item. An unregistered wand in America as well Canada was by all means most-strictly-illegal. However after his mishap at Ilvermorny. His first wand had been snapped in half before his very eyes. The punishment was reasonable considering the chaos he caused that involved the near-death of a fellow student. Jonah, as a youth, had been sentenced to a year in an adult wizard's prison. Jonah fled as any teenage wizard would do. Soon he fell in with rogues, thieves, and practitioners of the Dark Arts. All over North America, including Mexico, there was wizards or witches who were made fugitive by MACUSA or the Dominion. These wizardkind often turned to the Dark Arts for means of revenge or otherwise to continue upon the path that made thier kin banish them. Jonah was not as such. He had obstained from the Dark Arts except as a last resort here or there. 

Jonah raised his wand to aim towards the empty space at the top of the stairwell. He was breathing heavy with anticipation. He could hear wizardkind entering through the chimney. More correctly using Floo powder to break-and-enter via the abandoned fireplace. Jonah calmed himself by steadying his breathing. He focused on the here and now. Jonah stared down the empty threshold at the top of steep steps. He heard footseps followed by footsteps. Jonah assumed all three were wizards judging by the heaft of thier walk. The floor was thunderous above. The men all arguing. Bickering like schoolgirls, Jonah thought. He lowered his wand. He breathed out deeply sighing with relief. Jonah could hear them perfectly if the men weren't shouting all at once. They were fresh off some battle. Jonah knew the feeling well, he knew the sound of men coming from the loosing end as well, this was exactly that. If he was to get closer or leave from this area to the next, now would be his time, while the men were still fighting amongst one another they wouldn't hear him rummaging around in his drunkeness for a place to hide. He kept his wand in hand just in case as he moved upstairs. Jonah stopped at the corner of the threshold to the kitchen but still hidden away. He listened as one man quieted the others. How the wizard did it Jonah would've liked to know. His question was answered by another man.

"Put that damn thing away before you hurt yourself! Y'thinks me a nitwit! Aint no dummy draw a wand without intent or knowledge to use it!" the second man said. "Oh hush up Bookmark. Before you get hurt. We should all of have out our wands. The Dominion's Lapdogs will be finding us sure enough. They'll be here. We need to be ready." a third man said. He calm and his voice made Jonah nervous. He had known many dark wizards in his days. He worked for many of them. Not something he was proud of but it happened. He knew the sound of someone who went "too far" with dark magics The. Dark Arts had a bad habit of corrupting it's practitioners. That is, if one wasn't careful and Jonah always was. He never dabbled too much nor too long but was in constant midst of dark wizardry in his youth after his expulsion. "You are both going to get it. They ain't gonna be no Aurors! I killed that bitch that seen us! I shot out a Killing Curse just as we went through the Floo!" the third man shouted proudly. "What were you thinking! We are totally fucked! Now they will be coming" the second man said. Jonah gulped and began backing up. Aurors were bad news for him. Jonah hadn't duelled one in ywars, almost three, he was rusty. He trusted his wand. Mostly the core. Even if it was his second, it had chosen him. The two, wand and owner, had bonded strong the wandmaker said. It was a quetzalcoatl quill core. Not as desired or rare as his original which had Wampus cat hair as it's core. Still his second wand was a battle worthy wand. "Why did you kill her! You're crazy! She did nothing wrong!" the first man said.

Murderers, great, and only just set upon thier paths of darkness. Jonah felt his heart thump anxiously in his chest. A nervous fluttering pump.


	2. An Unlikey Potions Master

"First off let us begin with the restriction of referrering to calling me by title. There will be no use of sir, or professor or so much as a utterance of mister neither. You may call me by the name of my house, of which you will find there is nothing special, I simply detest the nomenclature attached to my occupation. I am sure most of you, if not all, have heard rumours of what unfortunate events have brought me here to Ilvermorny. I will be the only among my peers to inform you such is mostly likely true. And if you have any brains in your skulls you'll do your best not to piss me off." his voice was a thunderous echo through the classroom.

The potion master turned around to write his name in cursive handwriting upon the chalkboard behind him. Widogast, a surname on the lips of every student attending Ilvermorny. The school year of 2020 had thus far been exciting if nothing else. In the summer the emergence of a lost treasure map had sent the Wizarding World scrurrying for thier gossip columns. The Division of Unsolved Mysteries and Cold Cases had struck an odd allegiance with the Guilder's Union of Silversmithing. GUS and DUMCC bonding was a good thing for Magical American Congress. Widogast had his own problems to deal with. The latest being a failed marriage. On train ride over he had mad few friends among the faculty of Ilvermorny.The Flying Chariot ride up to the castle itself he spent with the four professors. All of them outcasts of thier own accords. His closest among them was a No-Maj whose presence was unexpected. The No-Maj Professor had once worked with him on the Magical Beastiary Division of MACUSA. 

Widogast had been silent for quite some time. A man near thirty who got lost in his mind. Always distracted by his imagination. His mind wandering off thinking up potion recipesl. His father said he had "a cauldron for brains". Widogast didn't argue the fact. It was true, there was always some alchemical cocktail brewing in his thoughts. An obsession which ran rampant without his control. "Are you going to teach us or not?" one boy in the front row said. Widogast's bright green eyes went wild with rage. He wanted to send a hex at the boy. "Today you will learn about a very difficult potion. It is extremely dangerous when made. You will all be left in the trusted company of my intern. While I go meet with the Creature's Professor to discuss joinging classes for the day. You will be attempting the First Challenge of the Scavenger's Hunt of Potioneer Mastery. It is supposed to be on the fly. Please be good or there will be Gaunt to pay!" Widogast shouted for all to hear. The classroom of seventh year students was wide eyed some with slack jaws. They were appalled at his lack of respect for the structure of Ilvermorny. Widogast was once a Thunderbird, he did not get along with students of Horned Serpents, he was stuck in a classroom full of them.


	3. The American Foulclaw

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At the top of Ilvermorny's tallest tower, the Round Tower is an ancient dragon that stands guard. However after the dragon escaped and returned she laid eggs. Now one of the eggs has gone missing and the thief, a wizard named Billy Beedle, is on the run to chase his dreams of being the first American to domesticate a dragon.

Billy Beedle ran off the edge of the balcony with broomstick in hand. In his other hand, the right one, was his redwood wand with Rougarou hair as it's core. The rest of his class watched in awe as he nosedived into the nothingness below. Whilst the seventh year wizard was falling he jumped onto the broomstick feet first. Billy looked like a surfer from California or some kind of pro-athletic skateboarder. He pushed down with his back foot pulling up on the front end of the broom to level out horizontally. The broomstick flying on a straightforward path.

When the runaway wizard looked back he saw Professor Twig not far behind. The shroud of the enchantments which protected Ilvermorny Castle from the prying eyes of No-Maj Americans. Billy knew he was in deep shit. If Professer Twig caught up with him he would be hauled off to the Headmistress' Office. He would probably expelled. Billy had stolen from the school. Madame Steward would make an example of him. He was Head Boy of Thunderbird House. Adventurous, yes undoubtedly, but thieves were not liked among professors.He was suppose to be a role model so they would give him the third degree. Maybe even break his wand. Billy's mind was a drift he didn't pay attention untill nearly to late. A branch was coming his way. He let his feet fall from below him and dropped on the broomstick without grace. Billy gasped with a yelp that stole his pride for a moment. The pain was fierce in his groin. The broomstick began wavering in a zig zag motion. He fell forward causing the vroom to nosedive again. He was at the bottom of the slope but had been above the treetops. Billy was now plummeting into the forested region. 

The Cleansweep Ultramax straightened out as he was mid air in the forest. His eyes went over his shoulder and saw no sign of Professor Twig. Billy followed the paths at a lowered speed. He would get off his broomstick altogether soon. He need not be found. Billy could hike some of the way. A few hours then sleep the night. By the time he reached his destination they wouldn't be looking anymore. It would take a few days the way he planned on going. The dragon cling to his back had stayed calm untill now. It was not yet old enough to fly or breath fire. Still a dragon chick and without a name. As he thought his mind wandered from his steering. The dragon screeched seconds before they hit a tree.

Billy awoke groggy. Dazed and confused. His wand nowhere in sight. The six week old American Foulclaw chick was asleep at the base of a tree curled in a ball. Billy was damp. His emerald tracksuit jacket was muddy and he was missing a shoe. It was strange that the chick came out so much as it's father. Billy had wished for his hatchling chick to be a Swedish Hammerhead like it's mother. It was too young too really tell. The crossbreed had the bipedal wings of a Foulclaw yet had three large bulking horns like an African Threehorn. Billy knew it was rare but sometimes if an orphaned dragon egg was found by an impregnated dragon mother they pick them up. Possibly it was the maternal instincts that motivated such actions. Billy had no idea but he was beginning this was the case of his chick. If the dragon's mother died and the father decided to keep the egg, an even more rare theory, then potentially he would pass it on to a mothering dragon he was bonded too. This circumstances was conjecture at best. Billy would not know gor sure u til he met the dragon dealer in Hemlock Grove, Pennsylvania. A long way from Ilvermorny and far away from home. He planned on laying low for the beginning of the trip. The dragon dealer had said he would need his hatchling aged to properly determine breed and so forth. 

Billy regained his senses while he sat on the damp earth. The forest was leaky from a hard pelting rain. He had instinctively spat out a mouthful of water which woke him but the head trauma had drawn him back to slumber. While standing up he could hears curses being cast in the forest. Not far from where he landed.

He felt fear. How had his drag not awoken to the ruckus. The tree had shielded the dragon from the rain. The noises were adults and a pair of children. He could not tell how the fight went or how sides were drawn. In the pitch black he tried desperately to search for his own wand. He did so carefully trying his best not to wake the dragon. His pet awoke with a shrieking screech that would one day be a roar. For now it was worse than a morning rooster. Billy was near the banks of the lake but still found nothing. He was afraid the wand had gone in. It would've floated away by now, he thought with a kick at the mud. Billy walkex back to the tree. He was no good with wandless magic. Without light he would never find his wand. The backpack on his back had not things like that. He was very poorly packed for his travels all of the sudden.

Around ten feet beyond the base of the tree he dropped to his knees. The Late Bloomer was stricken with dismay. Wrecked by his failure. Billy hadn't even put an Extension Charm on the backpack slung to his back. His heart sank into his gut. Billy felt like vomitting. He was a wandless wizard in a world of magic that was potentially harmful. Without his wand he was unable to protect himself. He had a few magical items stored away both in the bag as well as on his person but he felt not enough to get him where he needed to go. How was one to lay low when they needed to both purchase and register a wand. Just buying an authorized registered wand alone would get him caught. He would need to find some seedy underbelly of wizardkind. A dark market with an illegal wandmaker or a wandthief who had one for sale. The seventh year student was once the Head Boy of Thunderbird. He knew what would happen if he got caught. He would be hauled off to one of them Wizard Prisons. He knew the nest township had a fairly ripe history of Dark Arts. Aurors didn't even like going in there because the community was so tightly knit. However the wizarding inn in the township had been one he meant to avoid. Billy was going to simply walk through the town altogether. He could camp out in the next one. A No-Maj inn would take him surely. No matter the hour. He had heard those places were like that. Billy Beedle was sobbing. "What if I am a Squib, what if it's all been a fluke, maybe I'm such a huckster I fooled a wand into trusting me." he said through his tears.


	4. The Curse Breaker and the Tomb of the Pharoah's Blood

"We are lost again aren't we? You always get us lost! How is it that you survive on this job?" the house-elf yelled. The Curse Breaker stood ahead of his apprentice in the darkness of the corrider. Both men deep within the depths of a pyramid's catacombs. Egypt was hot but down here it was cold. A gentle breeze even. The breeze was againat them. It would be what they followed to find thier way back out. Mooby the House-Elf looked distraught. The three foot tall elegantly dressed elf had been in service to the House of Lillypilly since they crossed over to America a hundred years ago. Of course Lando Lillypilly had only known the elf since he was a child. The elf had been his only friend in the wprld for quite some years. Mooby was treated poorly by his father as was anyone in that man's path. However the Curse Breaker now doubted the elf even remember the feel of rags on his craggy wrinkled skin. A small miniature sized bowler hat held up over his dooping bat-like ears. In a little mock aristocratic suit to match. The elf refused shoes but you could only ask so much of a spoiled house-elf. 


	5. A Simple Case of Where Have I Been

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Multicruiser takes voyage from Vancouver Island to Mexico.

Jonah Strider was puking over the side of the narrowboat as soon as his eyes opened. His lips tried to mutter the word "booze" to any ear that would hear. Yet the vomit prevented any such thing. The hangover was like a train in his brain. Jonah finished hurling over the rusty railing covered by seaweed then fell on his ass. A choice as much as it was out of exhaustion. His eyes finally took in the enviroment. The fugitive wizard was on a narrowboat. He vould see shore. Jonah had ended up on a river. But where?

He squinted under the bright gray gloom of the overcast. He was so hungover even a day on the edge of a storm pained his eyes. "Where the fuck am I?" he said finally. Jonah had a rasp in his dry crackling throat. "You need water." a familiar female voice said softly. "You look like shit." she added with a stiff awkward grumble. Jonah didn't need to find the source of the voice. He knew her by sound. "What are you doing here? How'd you find me? Are you taking me in!" he said. Jonah began getting panicked. When he felt boxed in he got angry. Jonah stood up with a teetering that near dropped him again. "Accio Wand!" he shouted. The willow wood wand pulled itself free from the leather holster strapped to his forearm. It came from it's rightful place. "You found me! First off! Second you think us wandthieves!" she shouted. "And thirdly, lastly, actually most importantly this is my boat!" she continued even more shrill than before. Jonah cringed with regret. "Crinius Muto!" she hissed. Her wand aimed at Jonah's face. He felt the stinging burn of a rough clean shave with a fresh razor on his face, his hair felt shorter a heavy wind on his undercut, his hand felt up yo the top of his head. His hair was styled. Jonah felt his fingers dance to along his high cheekbones and across his square jaw and over his mildly dimpled chin. Now completely bare. "What have you done, witch!" Jonah said. "As I said you looked like shit." she retorted. 

Jonah was freezing even colder now with his haircut and face clean shaven. "How long have we been on the waters?" he asked gruffly. Jonah stood up. They were on the stern lounging area. He saw no tiller. It was impossible for them to be towing. They were in the middle of the straight. "How does this damned sea bitch work!" he asked. Jonah rushed back to the railing excited as much as he was flabbergasted. "It runs on magic, enchantments, strong ones. Old as Merlin, not really but still, a good fuck of a lot older than us." his ex-lover said. "This looks a little above your paygrade doesn't it?" Jonah said. "Mechanical magic?" he continued rhetorically. "Is this stolen by chance?" he asked also rhetorically.


	6. The Runaway, the Illegal Wand and the Oblivator

Billy Beedle quickly drew out his newly unpurchased wand from the small cracked leather sheath hidden under his track jacket beneath his armpit. He hadn't stolen the wand. The young seventeen year old wizard was still at the place of the transaction albeit Billy was crouched in the rafters. The thirteen and a half inch silver birch wood wand was light, flexible and waterproof. The wand had chosen Billy Beedle even the fugitive wand dealer had recognized that. The wand dealer had admitted also it was stolen off a dead wizard's corpse. Billy didn't care the corpse wand made him feel whole again. The silver birch wand had a strange crooked curvature design with a beautifully hand carved hilt. The empty sheath hung snug to his left ribcage. Billy didn't aim the wand. He simply clung to the upward beam of the rafter while balancing on a simple two by four. Billy quickly placed a nonverbal Unbreakable Charm on the beam. The charm felt strong as he casted it. He looked down suspicious of those below seeing the flicker of light from his wand. None saw him, no eyes were drawn upwards. The wand dealer, however, smiled obviously seeing the flash in the side of his view. The Dominion Officials had swarmed in like flies on roadkill.


	7. Sounds of Clockwork

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I imagine Ilvermorny looking a lot like Winterhold from Skyrim.  
> This story takes place in and around the American School of Witchcraft and Wizardy. It follows the two students who embark on a self-proclaimed quest to search for there friend, Billy Beedle.

Ilvermorny Castle stood atop Mount Greylock with the enchantment of misty fog ridden skies above. The charms of concealment kept the No-Maj away. It was the late hours of the night the professors of the school all fast asleep in thier own private quarters. The four houses of Ilvermorny all had separate dormitories on the grounds. A single groundskeeper was in charge of the detention detail which helped him with janitorial chores. Two students had skipped out on detention. Both knew full well that the groundskeeper was out searching for them.

Abraham held his eleven inch long blackthorn wand in his right hand. The rain was gently pattering on the stone bridge beneath his feet. In the night's dreary mist the crows cawed,. the slippery stones swooshed as the two ran through puddles and a top the tallest of spires the guard dragon roared. It howled to let out the deep sadness of a mother whose lost one of her young. Abraham looked back towards the school for a departing glimpse.


End file.
